you've begun to feel like home
by lydiamartins
Summary: We will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible, and when we leave you will finally understand why storms are named after people -— lukeannabeth, for nala, at the monsters in the closet valentine's day exchange!


**notes | **this is for nala (frays) in the monsters in the closet valentine's day exchange! **pairings: **lukeannabeth with **prompts, **paper hearts, glitter, "open your eyes", trees

the quote below is practically my favorite poem quote of all times so hopefully it sort of fits into this, c:

**disclaimer **- i don't own any of the characters or references to other television shows and/or books; so i was on tumblr and i found this prompt that if annabeth and thalia's roles were reversed such that annabeth would have the brother of jason and

**you've begun to feel like home**  
lukeannabeth

.

_we will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible,  
and when we leave you will finally understand  
why storms are named after people._

_-— _katrina, k.m.

.

Annabeth sits on the back of a school bus, jolted by the constant motion that has become somewhat predictable despite only being three weeks into the school year, and lets her eyes focus upon the text that lays in front of her; it's one of those larger books from the high school library, titled _The Art of War, _which is more about military tactics and defeating the enemy than anything else, and she blinks upon seeing the scattered words, as though they're falling across the page (they're falling apart like everything else in her life)._  
_

She fingers the paper heart shaped post-it note that her step-mother placed upon the back of her strawberry-themed lunchbox, which reads _Make sure that you remember to finish your homework; turn in your permission slip for the museum field trip to Mrs. Dawson - Mom. _Annabeth can't resist the urge to sneak a peek at Neal (one of her younger adoptive siblings)'s note, and feels her heart drop a little at its ending (_love mommy, xoxo) _and even though it's probably something lame and childish, affectionate love from a parent would be nice, once in a while.

It wasn't as though Annabeth wasn't aware of her current situation - that she was lucky enough to have a family; her father frequently traveled on something akin to 'business trips' around the world, and she wouldn't be surprised if her adoptive mother decided that two children were already enough mouths to feed, and she would end up on the streets (Annabeth already had a suitcase ready for that situation). She holds her book tightly to her stomach, and thinks what would happen if she left —

So, it takes about two weeks to muster up the allowance, and soon enough, she's free (or so, that's the way she dreams of it, in the midst of other nightmares, of falling into endless oblivion, lost for all eternity).

.

Her father dies when she's twelve (the biological one, at least) - a car accident, Annabeth's supposed to believe. The adopted younger brothers are sent away, to something akin to a camp or boarding school in Switzerland, but they can't afford enough money to send her away, what with now a one-paycheck family; her mother had died from cancer when Annabeth had been two, or maybe it was a serious case of drug inhalation (anything was possible these days) for lack of better word, and ever since then, her father had been the only one she could rely on. Even his existence was ephemeral, fleeting at best.

The nanny is the one to tell her the news, bending down and holding her hands as though this will make the news any easier to accept - she hears her mother's cries at night and falls asleep between empty sheets, restless fits; when Annabeth returns back to school, there's an aura of silence that follows her wherever she goes.

In social studies, during groupwork sessions, one of her assigned partners claims that they have a pounding headache and need to visit the nurse's office for some Motrin; the other partner says that they need to use the bathroom, and end up doing so for the rest of the hour. In biology, her lab partner accidentally ends up spilling nitric acid on Annabeth's hands - her teacher forces her in front of the shower station, but the nitric acid's already seemed to dissolved into her skin, a mere burn mark forming over what should have been burnt flesh.

The words on chalkboards become fuzzier than usual - her mind functions quickly, eyes jumping from number to number on her trig textbook, all turning into a mess of algebraic expressions until her head pounds, and she can't think anymore. It's not a process, all of a sudden; it starts with forgetting to do her math homework, and then forgetting to study for certain tests, and suddenly, it's all a blur; it's not long before mother decides that spending quality time with her only daughter isn't quite worth what it used to be. Annabeth walks into her mother's room one day, report card scrunched up in one fist and a

There's a boy who ends up on her doorstep a few weeks later - his name's Jason, like Jason from the Argonauts, one of those so-called classic movies that she had watched in school - hands in his pockets, looking completely mortified. _My, uh, mom - well, my adoptive mom just found out, that I'm adopted, and all; I was able to find out that your mom - I'm guessing, your mom - is my mom too, and maybe I can talk to her? _He looks sort of desolate, out-of-place in Bluebell, Alabama, with an old-fashioned leather jacket, something out of the movies, around his shoulders; his stormy grey eyes remind Annabeth of herself, and somehow, she finds herself nodding slowly, opening the door and letting the stench of alcohol filter out.

_My dad - I guess, our dad, now - died a few years back, so she's going downhill. It's probably not best for you to see her like to this, to see your real mother when she's at her worst, _she murmurs, softly. Annabeth knocks on the door, and watches the oiled hinges swing open - her mother's lying on the bed with another man, and she's never felt more revolted in her life; the smell of acid and psychoactive drugs fills her nostrils, and before Jason's able to see inside the room, she shuts the door, feeling oddly productive of her . . . little _brother. Not now, Jason, _Annabeth continues, trying not to break down - she feels as though typical twelve-year olds shouldn't have to see stuff like this, unless it's in those anticlimactic television series, _she's . . . sleeping._

The door opens a few minutes later - her mother, or what's left of the beautiful actress that Annabeth had used to admire, several years before the downfall had begun (of course, everything must come with an end), walks out of the doors, smoothing down the rumples in her shirt - and glares at the new visitor, who's perched upon one of the stools in the kitchen, chewing on his fingernails. _Who's your new friend, Annabeth? _She looks at him the way that everybody else in school looks at Annabeth - as if she's some sort of vermin that needs to be gotten rid of.

_This is Jason, mom, Jason Chase, who's actually your son. _Her mother stands numbly, over the two of them - Jason fumbles with a file of papers in a tattered backpack, picking on the chipped edges of his fingernails which have turned a tan orange. Annabeth takes the opportunity of silence to take one of those old-fashioned picnic baskets from the pantry, and takes pieces of slightly moldy bread from the fridge and a container of marmalade from one of the more understanding types of neighbors, who had passed by with their condolences, _we're going to to the park, Jason - would you like that? _He nods back, meekly. _Then, just go put on your shoes, and we can leave in a few minutes - we'll be right there._

Annabeth thinks that if she sounds more assured and confident of herself, it'll actually apply the situation - that's not how real life works, perhaps. _I have a son, _her mother murmurs to herself, slowly, as if the more she tries to say it, the more of a fact it'll stay in her head, instead of some sort of malevolent curse that the Gods have inflicted upon her. _We're not going to park - don't be silly Annabeth, darling. You have homework to do, and I have work - __  
_

_Work? _Annabeth laughs - she feels as though she's had it with her mother, that she can't take it anymore; she's felt like this a lot, recently, more than should be normal, _you weren't working, mother - I don't want to know what you were doing, and honestly, I really don't care. Jason came all the way from wherever his home is supposed to be, and if you do care the slightest bit about him, we're going to go to the park and have a picnic, like a nice, normal family. _Even though the Graces are nothing close to a nice, normal family.

_I don't want custody over him, Annabeth, _her mother, replies, a little exasperated with the situation; Annabeth firmly grasps the picnic basket, and walks slowly towards the door, uncrossing her leg and pushing the stool back in its proper place in a fluid motion. _I don't want anything to do with this kid - I mean, how are yo supposed to know that he's even my son? For all I know, he's just a lying, orphan -_

Annabeth sighs. _He could be my brother, mom - honestly, if you don't want custody over him, then why did you have him in the first place? _It's a question that goes unanswered - there's silence for a moment, and yet again, Annabeth takes the opportunity to walk through the door, smiling in the back of her mind when her mother follows in suit, grabbing a peacoat from the rack in the front of the room, and beckons the limousine.

Minutes later, the three of them are at the park - they settle down on a grassy piece of land, sitting upon a crimson red blanket which reminds Annabeth of the blood that she never bleeds, and make small talk about one another; her mother stares gloomily at the sky, and reminds Annabeth, _Annabeth, darling, there was that picnic basket you packed, homemade treats and all - why don't you go take it from the car? _Annabeth nods, slowly, and walks in the opposite direction - she doesn't think that her mother would do anything to Jason, not to a nine year old boy.

She sees a flash of light in the black of her mind, and then everything's all in a rush - she's running back towards the field, her feet throbbing, toes mangled into one another from the stiletto high heels that give her a bit of needed height, and Annabeth trips over the pavement, skinning her knee; blood runs down her legs, for once, but she lets herself numb the slight pain out. By the time that she returns back to the field, her mother's standing over Jason's backpack, with a large smile on her face, _Well, I guess it's just going to be the two of us, now, isn't it? _and Annabeth thinks that she's never hated anyone more.

At home, she stares up at the ceiling through blurry tears and watches the light-bulbs flicker. Annabeth wonders whether she could just get go all of this — her life revolves around pleasing other people and chasing after dreams that she doesn't even put the effort in for. She takes the red band of plastic and pulls her bare foot, adorned with claw marks and bites from her very own teeth, up to her head, wincing; there's a sudden realization in her mind, and she finds herself tapping the familiar rhythm on her cellular device - _nine-one-one, emergency police, please - _and all they tell her is that, _I'm sorry, Miss Chase, but you can't report a kidnapping until twenty-four hours after the kidnapping has occurred. We'll keep a lookout for him, though. _And, Annabeth's alone, once more, the last remaining flicker of hope left in her empty mind, torn apart by what-if's and why's, destroyed.

It takes her weeks to figure out the truth, and she leaves immediately after the truth is revealed; her mother tells her, _Annabeth, darling, don't be mad at me - would you rather have it that I had traded you, or worse, that I would have traded myself to that she-wolf? It wasn't safe; after all, we didn't even know if Jason was actually my son and actually your younger brother, now did you? _and Annabeth replies, _but you traded Jason, mom, you traded him to a monster, and now, we're never going to see him again - and it's all your fault._

She walks out of the house, quickly, the five-inch wedges digging into the sides of her feet; there's a backpack resting on her shoulders (the tattered one with the edgy designs and denim pockets, but it belonged to Jason, so Annabeth decides to keep it - because that's all that's left of her little brother that she barely even knew) with the bare necessities, and two mahogany suitcases from some fancy brand in New York, that her mother had gotten for free back in the good old days. There's a wallet in her pocket, a black leather one that's probably fake, with a photograph of her father inside; there's a locket hanging 'round her neck, with a picture of her mother on one side, and a picture of herself on the other - of course, one when things were simpler, when she was younger and more innocent.

Annabeth's not quite sure where she's going to go - it's sort of an aimless, everlasting task to find her brother, but leaving school and not being restricted by lights that feel as though she's being imprisoned seems to be the best thing that's happened to her as of yet.

Freedom isn't all its worth, she thinks to herself, living on the streets and all. She's had occasional friends who tell about older siblings who are able to live in college dorms, something akin to a place of freedom with the constant jurisdiction of rules (_you can eat as many Oreo's that you want to, you can do whatever you want, you can sleep in everyday_) but Annabeth assumes that by that age, her priorities would have changed, and suddenly, there would be more problems, harder ones, to deal with that the simple ones that passed through her muddled life.

She sits on the edge of a street corner, the faintest wisp of cold air passing through the atmosphere, her cheeks tinged scarlet from the harsh winter which passes through the Midwest; Annabeth fingers the edges of a fraying map, quilted by her adopted mother, one of the few possessions that she had nicked from the household, something that she was sure nobody would miss, much like herself. It had been three months and despite that she had brought a cellphone with her, her mother hadn't even done so much as called. There's the last call in the distance, a booming sound, and she takes a bus to the middle of nowhere, and meets a boy with pretty blonde ringlets (_a devil in disguise, perhaps - angels don't exist in a world as messed up as this one_) and pretty blue eyes, and all Annabeth knows is that he reminds her of her brother, so she runs away with him.

(And, she's been running ever since.)

.

_What are you drawing? _Luke walks over at the campsite, hands placed casually in his pockets, his blonde hair slicked back with some sort of watery liquid and his blue eyes electrifying, as though they're peering into the depths of her soul.

She shifts over on the iron-wrought bench in the midst of Central Park, muttering a simple, _Did Thalia sent you to check up on me? You know that I can take care of myself, right? Just because I'm a few years younger than you, it doesn't mean that I'm the baby of the family._

_The family? _He asks, raising an eyebrow, causing an uncharacteristic blush to form on Annabeth's cheeks. She brushes down the eraser marks that stick on the side of the paper and takes in the somewhat tranquil ambiance _— _it's one of those few days wherein there aren't any monsters trying to kill them and ruin their perfect little family, and it feels quite nice, to be honest, but it feels as though something's just waiting to go wrong. That's the point of their family _— to beat all the problems. _Without all the problems, Annabeth's not quite sure what would happen - who would leave first, and all.

_A family, _she murmurs back, repeating the words as though she's never heard them before. _You're the dad, Thalia's the mom, and I'm the baby, _Annabeth says in a matter-of-fact tone as though it couldn't be any less obvious. Annabeth perhaps is only twelve years old but she sees the way that Thalia looks at Luke with something akin to respect, and how he sometimes returns those looks; she looks up to Luke as though he's her hero, the good guy, for once.

_What are you drawing, though? _Luke repeats the question, peering down at the metallic-scented pieces of paper.

_It's uh, a home. When I was back in school, in kindergarten, my teacher used to make us draw the things that we couldn't have — most of the girls drew a new doll and the guys drew an action figure or video game that their parents wouldn't buy them until their birthday — and I drew a family, a nice one with siblings that adored me and parents that were actually there. My teacher actually, uh, recommended me for some sort of child therapy after I turned the assignment in, _Annabeth admits, ruefully, and smiles back down at the picture. _I have a family, though, now. I have you and Thalia and that's all I need._

.

It starts off well enough -

She lets out a small giggle, a completely uncharacteristic action of Annabeth, of course, abruptly pulling her hand out of the light grasp that he's implanted, ignoring the look that Thalia gives them out of the corner of their eyes, something akin to jealousy or confusion; Luke clears his throat, taking a step back, and tries not to think of her scarlet-tinged cheeks in the dark of the night as cute. There's something akin to a knock on the tree trunk behind the three of them, and Annabeth pulls up a bow from the hollow of the tree, reaching her hand backwards to grab a silver pointed arrow, and is about to launch the fatal weapon when some sort of creäture comes traipsing out of the woods, arms up in defense.

_Wait, uh don't attack! I come in piece! _Something akin to a centaur from Annabeth's mythical textbooks back home (wherever that may be) comes traipsing out of the woods, and looks relieved upon seeing them. _Are you guys, uh, the new demigods? _They stare back at him in silence, and Thalia fingers the tip of a silver bow, getting ready to aim. _Um, if you're not, then this is really awkward, _he says, scratching the back of his head nervously, _but I think that you are._

_Who - what are you supposed to be? _Thalia questions, just a bit in a scrutinizing way; Annabeth understands her bitter undertones, the fact that she's been running from her family from a young age and that it's difficult to trust people, basically impossible, when all they've ever done is betray you countless times, over and over again.

The centaur gulps, exchanging a look with the forest behind him, wondering if he should make a run for it, but decides otherwise, _I'm Grover, and I've come to take you home._

.

The type that Annabeth had seen in movies, where magic really could exist instead of remaining in her bitter dreams is clear; the sun shines down upon the almost barren landscape in a way that resembles glitter, and she's never felt as though she's belonged anywhere else but here. She stares blankly at the wooden sign in front of her through Grover's binoculars; a few miles away, it reads Camp Half-Blood; Grover tells her, _open your eyes, __this is going to be your new home, guys! You're going to love it her - there's archery and there's competitions and feasts, _with that sort of contagious, awkward smile, that she can't help but return._  
_

_Home _- the concept's nevertheless foreign to her; she's had several homes, the fake one that her stepmother had set up and so eagerly torn down in front of her very own eyes, the one that she had established with Luke and Thalia, but their homes had always been temporary, on the run from the next monster waiting to kill them, to ruin their lives even more than they were already ruined.

(And what a home Camp Half-Blood turns out to be.)

.

When Thalia is turned into the tree guarding Camp Half-Blood, Annabeth thinks that life is finally realizing that perfect families can't exist any longer.

It's just her and Luke now, her and Luke against the world — he knocks on her door in the middle of the night, and she just collapses in his arms, and all they have left is each other, and it should be enough but it's really not.

_._

_Hey Annabeth, _he murmurs, a smile creeping onto his face - she tries to look anywhere but his face, because on his face are lips, and Annabeth hasn't felt this awkward since she had met him in the first place, tripping over her own feet. _Wanna play a game?_

She raises her eyebrows. _What kind of game? _Luke holds up one of those video games that Annabeth swears she's seen before, maybe in Percy's cabin - something akin to what a normal teenage boy would have played, but then again, none of them are normal people - and she smiles, competitively. _Y'know, _she casually mentions, _I beat Percy at this, all the time.__  
_

_Yeah, _Luke replies, sliding over on the couch, _but Percy's horrible at this game. _Something within Annabeth makes her want to defend Percy, but she's got better things to do in her life. _I'll beat you, though._

_Care to make a bet on it? _Annabeth replies, grabbing one of the handheld remotes, smiling a little as it fits into her hands, her fingers twitching, pressing at all the wrong buttons, awkwardly, reflexes coming in. _  
_

They shake on it, laughing.

(Annabeth ends up winning the game, and for about fifteen minutes after the screen flashes dead - curfew and all, Chiron says, even though he's probably the worst law enforcer ever given to Camp Half-Blood - Luke just sits there, numbly, laughing a little to himself now and then. _Since when did you get so good at video games? _He asks, and there's a look in his eyes as though the question has a second meaning. Everything about Luke has a second meaning, Annabeth thinks to herself.)

.

She stares at him, what feels like years later but is most probably months; he strides over, saying, _It's been a long time, Annabeth. _There's something different about him - he's always been changing, but it's different this time; the warm, familiar glint in his eyes has been replaced by the overwhelming sense of darkness, greed, and power. Annabeth crosses her arms, instinctively, a chill running down her spine as he gives her a quick glance. _You look good._

_Family, Luke - you promised. _The words spew out of her mouth, falling like acid rain, instinctively. She stands behind Percy, shielding behind the son of Poseidon, and willing for the victor to be the good guy in the story; Luke's not the good guy, not the boy that she thought that would never leave her, anymore, and it just hurts.

He rolls his eyes, smiling to himself. _You're not my family, Annabeth. My dad, yeah, you know what, nobody really cares about him; your family is the one that's always taken care of you, not the one that you've been forced to take care of just because nobody else would take care of the helpless little nine-year-old. _The words shouldn't hurt, but they do, all the same. _So, we may be blood, but we are not family. My mom is my family, she's the one that I give a damn about. Not you._

_This isn't you, Luke. _It's been three months, and Annabeth isn't the type of girl to get hurt, and if she does, she wouldn't show it, at least not willingly - but the betrayal is still there, glinting in his eyes, challenging her to respond. _You're not evil - you've just mistaken this path for good, for the happiness that you seek; there are other ways to achieve happiness. _She doesn't want to have to let go of him, not yet.

He laughs, booming. _This is me, Annabeth. This has always been me. _And Annabeth thinks that she's lost him, forever.

.

**um this is rushed but i really like lukeannabeth so please leave a review?**

**happy valentine's day xx**


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